


Intersection

by poppetawoppet



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppetawoppet/pseuds/poppetawoppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the <span class="ljuser i-ljuser i-ljuser-type-C"></span><a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://aianonlovefest.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://aianonlovefest.livejournal.com/"></a><b>aianonlovefest</b>prompt established kradam: kris dies suddenly in a car crash while the other driver survives but is in critical condition. only it turns out the two identities have been mixed up and kris is alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intersection

 

Adam entered the hospital waiting room quietly, his security somehow managing to keep him away from the press. He wasn't sure how Melanie had managed it, only that she deserved a raise. It was a good thing, because the look on Katy's face said that Adam looked like shit.

"What do we know?" Adam managed to croak, his hand running through his already disheveled hair.

"Nothing. They won't say anything. Just that they were both pretty badly hurt. Kris was driving. He had his wallet. In his pocket. The only reason they know about--"

"I was on the phone with him when it happened. Well on speakerphone. With both of them."

"Oh."

"He was bringing Kris back to my place after some much needed "boy talk" he said. I laughed and told them not to do anything I wouldn't do. Then…"

Adam sat down, ignoring the double takes coming his way. He scrubbed his face again, trying to forget the sound of metal against metal, the scream before the phone cut out. He looked back up.

"They called me because I'm still listed as next of kin. Even after two years. I-" Katy looked down at her hands.

"You would have been here anyway."

Katy smiled at him. "Yeah."

They sat there for hours, holding hands and looking up every time someone vaguely medical passed by. Hospital security kept the worst of the crowd outside, but every once in awhile someone would sneak in, and Adam would look up, and they would walk away, silent and scared. That's how he knew it was bad.

"Miss O'Connell?"

Adam looked up, looked at his watch. He had been here six years, not six hours.

"Yes."

"Come with me."

Katy dragged Adam with her, despite the doctor's frown.

"I'm sorry Miss O'Connell, but we did everything we could, and he put up a good fight... Mr. Allen was just too severely injured—"

The rest of the words seemed to disappear in a haze of pain. Adam couldn't think.

Kris _dead_? It wasn't possible.  
  
"Now, since you, Mr. Lambert, are listed as one of the next of kin, I am allowed to let you know that Mr. Bell is doing okay. He is still in critical condition, but it's mostly blood loss. He suffered multiple minor wounds from the glass, so scarring should be minimal. I can't let anyone to see him just yet, but you can certainly peek in from the window if you'd like."

Adam nodded numbly, and watched the doctor leave the room. It wasn't until Katy touched his cheek he realized he had been crying.

It wasn't until he began the walk to the other waiting room he began to feel empty, aching for the one person he hadn't even realized completed him.

Adam peeked in the window, wincing at the amount of white bandages. All he could make out was a bit of Brad's jaw line, and that was it. He could see they had shaved Brad's head, not that there was much to shave, and that would make him so angry. Normally that would have made Adam laugh.

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel about seeing Brad like this. He still kept hearing the awful noise, the screams, and seeing Kris's smiling face every time he closed his eyes.

Adam always had a glib word, a sentence, a sound bite, but no words could even begin to describe what he was feeling right now. Katy had taken the responsibility of calling the family. Adam was supposed to be calling their friends.

But what could he say?

"My ex-boyfriend and my roommate were in a car crash and the wrong one survived."

He hated himself for thinking it. Hated that the thought hadn't gone away yet. Hated that he wished it was true. Hated knowing that it wasn't.

Adam sat, rubbing his eyes, and dialed the first number.

"Alli? Yeah, I'm at the hospital. I have news."

*  
Adam didn't remember much between the day of the accident and the day of Kris's funeral.

Kim Allen, holding him tight and thanking him for being there.

Megan and Lil and Anoop and Matt and all of them converging in a hug of mass sobbing, Adam's eyes still dry and burning. He had only cried the once, but now it wouldn't come, as if crying acknowledged the fact that Kris was dead, as if crying made it real. But Adam wanted to release the knot that had surrounded his heart, but he couldn't and it was slowly suffocating him.

Instead he ended up staring through the hospital window, wondering when or if Brad's mother would ever show up, Alisan and Cassidy and everyone else sitting and waiting, their eyes boring into Adam as if Adam should say something. What could he say? What would be something that could rightfully convey his feelings? Adam wasn't even sure he knew what he was feeling.

The paparazzi questioning, invading, lightbulbs flashing, none of them coming up with the right story. That was his life right now.

And pain.

*

Adam wore dark blue. He always wore black so wearing it today would make it seem like any other day.

It wasn't every day one buried a best friend. The love of his life.

It was Lil who had suggested it, and Adam had been swept along despite the fears he would open his mouth and his voice would croak. That he would dishonor Kris's memory by breaking right then and there.

Instead it soared, riding over everyone else's, floating away and maybe high enough that Kris would hear it. Adam hoped.

When it was over there were no dry eyes. Except his own.

*

Adam kicked the wall, trying to stub his toe, trying to relieve the burning in his eyes, the fire in his gut. He ended up sitting on the floor of Kris's room and running his hands through his hair. He couldn't think. The door opened and he half expected Kris to walk in and make a joke about Adam being on his knees.

It was Kim Allen.

"Hey," she said softly. "Are you all right?"

Adam shook his head. She always made him feel like he was thirteen again, except in a warm way. She was a mother, after all.

"You never told him did you?"

Adam looked up at her then, and if Kim's face was any indication, his face must have been pure misery.

"How could I?" he managed to whisper.

She nodded and sat on the floor with him. "He never said it to me, but he loved you too you know."

She put an arm around him, and then it came, the wave of despair and grief and loss he had been holding back, and he folded himself into her arms and wept.

*

It's hard to sit in the room with Brad, all the bandages covering him, even though the doctor's assured Adam and all the others that there will be little to no scarring.

Adam doesn't touch him, doesn't even look at him. He doesn't know what to say, even. It's barely been a week, and he's drained from yesterday, and sitting with Brad, and feeling angry and guilty and sad was not helping.

"I think he loved me," Adam said finally. "I'll never know. We were always on the brink of something, but neither one of us wanted to make the first move. Too scary. I wish I'd kissed him that one time. In Vegas. It was right after his divorce and I didn't want to be rebound drunk sex. But I should have at least kissed him."

Adam put his head in his hands. "I don't even know why I'm coming here, except when you wake up, I want to ask about him. I know that's not fair, but I didn't get to say goodbye. So fuck being fair."

As usual, the machines beeped in response and Adam walked out of the room. His visits were always short, and the tabloids romanticized them, saying Adam was pining for his ex. If only they really knew. Adam put on his sunglasses, ignoring the flashes, the questions that still hurt too much.

*

He couldn't throw any of it away. Couldn't move any of it yet. But Adam spent a lot of time in Kris's room, reading half finished lyrics, lying on his bed, smelling his clothes and pretending Kris was tucked into one of their hugs.

Adam knew it wasn't healthy, but he had to hold onto something, or he was going to break.

He found the box with his name on it in the sock drawer. Adam hesitated and opened it, almost dropping it.

It was a coin, a simple quarter hanging from a chain. Adam remembered it, the distinct scratch in the eagle's wings, the slight discoloration. He couldn't believe Kris had kept it this long.

_"Okay Adam, we're going to do the slots now!"_

_Kris was practically bouncing, high on energy and soda, and Adam couldn't help but laugh as Kris pushed quarters into the slots and pulled the bars. As Kris made up a special lucky dance, as if they really needed to win the jackpot. Soon enough Kris was half drunk and they were down to the last of their change._

_"Oh. Only one quarter? You play it."_

_Adam held the quarter between his fingers. The trip had been about distracting Kris, and he had, but the way Kris kept looking at him… it was kind of disturbing and kind of hot and Adam wasn't sure what to do about it._

_"I think I'll keep this one."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because look, it's us."_

_Adam held out the quarter, discolored on one side, perfect on the other._

_Kris shook his head and took the quarter. "No."_

_Then he took a key and marked a K across the eagle's wings. "Now it's us. And I'm keeping it."_

Adam took the necklace out of the box. Just like them. Two sides of a coin.

Why had Kris had it made? Why was he giving it back to Adam after two years and no sign of even keeping it?

Adam thought he knew, and now he had something to hold onto, something precious and sacred. He looped the chain around his neck, feeling the coin warm against his skin. He touched it.

_Adam leaned forward. "Give it back."_

_"No. Maybe when the time is right."_

_Kris grinned and his mouth was inches from Adam's. He looked up and Adam could see it then, the undisguised want. He panicked and stepped back._

_"You're right. Maybe when we are both ready."_

_They both knew they weren't talking about the coin anymore._

*

It had been almost a week, and the first thing Adam noticed was that they had removed the bandages off of Brad's arms. They were pale and crisscrossed in pink lines, and bigger than Adam remembered. His face was still covered, his familiar jaw line poking out underneath.

Then again, maybe Brad had actually stuck with his weight training program. Brad was like that sometimes. He would stick with the things Adam least expected him to.

Adam didn't know what he was doing here. He and Brad were friends, that was certain, but not the kind that had bedside vigils. Adam still came though, and ended up talking about his life like he would talk to Kris: music, movies, dates, anything. It wasn't fair to Brad, but Adam would sit down and an hour later find himself slumped in the chair and toying with the chain around his neck.

Adam knew he needed help, that he should talk to someone about the endless hole of grief and regret that was eating him alive. But that meant letting go, and he wasn't ready for that. He would never be ready for that. But he had to.

"Look, Brad, I have to apologize. I shouldn't have dumped all my issues on you. I'll be here when you wake up, but until then, maybe it would be better if I didn't come here. Thanks for listening though."

Adam stood, and took Brad's hand in his, and froze.

Everything in the room seemed louder, brighter. Adam could hear each second on the clock tick as if it were right by his ear. He dropped the hand and stepped back.

_You are imagining it. You are feeling things where they aren't._

Adam rubbed his hands together, wondering now if he had imagined the calluses, if it was just his lonely heart finally breaking his mind.

_There is no harm in checking. Maybe…_

Adam remembered a story Kris told him once, the one he told everyone, and walked over to the bed, his hand shaking, his heart in his throat. If he was right...

If he was wrong...

He turned down the blanket slowly, swallowing. This was crazy. He was crazy and was going to get kicked out of the hospital and his publicist was going to kill him. He was going to be outed as the worst kind of voyeur, or a sex fiend if someone walked in and misinterpreted. He looked out the window, and everyone was still sitting. He let out a breath. He had to know, or it was going to kill him.

He lifted up the hospital gown, ignoring everything except the torso in front of him.

The room seemed to move, and Adam barely made it back to the door.

"Someone get me a fucking doctor right now!"

He closed the door, slumping against the wall and laughing.

He hoped he was right.

He hoped he was wrong.

He held onto the coin around his neck and prayed whatever answer came, he would be able to face it.

A doctor, two nurses and Alisan came in through the door. They all looked from the body on the bed to Adam sitting on the floor.

"Please do me a favor, and tell me I am not imagining the scar on his chest," Adam said quietly.

Alisan froze as the doctor walked over. "Cheeks doesn't have a scar on his chest."

"Kris does," Adam whispered, and Alisan gasped.

"How did you..."

"His hands. I hadn't touched his hands because of the bandages. They had calluses."

"Calluses," Alisan repeated, voice thick.

"Like someone who plays guitar a lot."

"Oh. Oh my God."

The doctor turned then. "This man does indeed have a scar. Looks pretty old. Does that have meaning to you?"

Adam nodded, a rush of feelings somewhere between guilt and relief, joy and shock running through him.

"That is not Brad Bell. That is Kris Allen. I'm sure if you check the fingerprints, you'll find that I am right."

The doctor stared. "Are you sure? I—"

Alsian put her hand up. "If anyone would be sure, it would be Adam. Trust me."

The doctor nodded and began to confer with the nurses.

He put his face in his hands. "Alisan?"

She knelt down beside him. "Yeah?"

"Will you help me call Kris's momma?"

She nodded. "I won't leave you until I know you are okay."

Adam swallowed. The doctor still looked lost, almost broken. Adam understood that.

*

The press had a field day. It had thinned considerably since the funeral, but somehow word had leaked and they were all back. Adam waited at the door, ready to defend Mrs. Allen if necessary. She had stayed to finish finalizing Kris's will.

She looked old. Adam's heart sank a little, because she had never looked like this. But it seemed in the two days since he had seen her last--somehow she had convinced him to go out to dinner-- she had aged.

"Adam," she said, her voice flat. "Are they sure?"

Adam swallowed. "I wouldn't have called you otherwise."

She leaned into him then, and closed her eyes. "When can I see him?"

"I'm taking you there now. He still has bandages on his face, but they took the ones off of his arms last week. He hasn't woken up yet. They don't know if he will. So it's still a hard road."

She nodded. "How is Brad's family taking this?"

Adam shrugged. "We still haven't heard from his mother. But all of us who have been here, it's... surreal."

"And how are you?"

Adam looked into her eyes and squeezed her hands. "I don't know. I really don't."

"I wouldn't expect anything else." She squeezed his hand. "I think it's been hardest for you hasn't it?"

"I'm doing okay. I think. Here we are."

She didn't even blink before crossing over to the bed and taking Kris's hand. She began talking to him, telling him that she was sorry she hadn't been there, that his Dad and his brother were on the way.

Adam stood and walked out, letting her have some time.

*

"Uh-oh"

Alisan was still there, more for Adam than anyone else. Adam looked up.

"Ah. About time she got here."

He stood and met Mrs. Bell before she got to the room.

"Hi, Mrs. Bell."

" _You,_ " she said. "What is this I hear about my boy?"

"I think you have heard what happened. I left you several voice messages."

"How could this happen? My boy! I came to see my boy and he is dead and buried under someone else's name!"

Adam clenched his fists.

"Listen here," he whispered. "You weren't here for him earlier. We were. So if you tell me that you are mad because you didn't get to see him, that is your own damn fault. I'm sorry you failed as a mother, but don't you dare disturb them." He pointed to the door. "Even she took the time to see Brad when she thought this was Brad. So don't."

Mrs. Bell looked shocked, and her face fell. "I only--"

"Look, I know you, Mrs. Bell. You know me. Take the settlement the hospital gives you, and just live the rest of your life quietly, and I won't say anything."

She nodded, and walked away. Adam sighed, and put his hand on the door.

"That was interesting," Alisan said. "I've never seen her back off."

Adam turned. "Mrs. Allen was there for me when I needed her. I'm returning the favor."

She nodded thoughtfully. "And what about him?"

She reached for the necklace around Adam's neck. Adam stepped back. "Alisan..."

"It's okay. This is hard for you. Just remember, he still has a long way to go."

Adam nodded. "I know. But he's _here_ "

*

It was two days later when Kris moved his hand for the first time, curled into an approximation of a chord, then relaxed. From then on there was a nurse checking in every fifteen minutes, but nothing more.

Adam came every day, the same shift as before. He was seeing someone now, to talk about all the feelings he had.

Her name was Doctor Bailey, and she was wonderful. Adam still carried the weight of guilt, but he knew someday he might be able to work past it.

Maybe.

So he talked to Kris about music, and sang to him, and read the gossip magazines to him because Adam knew Kris hated that shit.

But it was in a moment of silence when Kris spoke. Adam was leaning forward, his hands around Kris's. He had finished singing again, the Beatles this time, and when he was done, there was a mumble.

"You missed the lyric in the chorus."

Adam's head snapped up and there were Kris's eyes, drawn and weary, but open.

"Well, sue me for not knowing the Beatles."

Kris gave a half smile, his eyes closing again, and Adam rushed out of the room to get a doctor.  
Adam tried to convince himself it had been for the good.

In the days following Kris's emergence from his coma, things had gotten crazy and terrible, and it was all Adam could do to hold himself together in Kris's presence, to not reach out and touch the faint white lines that crossed his arms, then even fainter ones on his face.

To top it off, Kris had gotten close-mouthed after he was told about what exactly had happened. It wasn't like Kris to _not_ talk about stuff, and it was hard for even Adam to break through the newfound reserve.

The press had begun to get antsy, camping outside both the hospital and Adam's apartment, as well as Kris's parents house in Arkansas. So Adam had discreetly found a small cabin in the middle of nowhere and Kris and his parents had bundled off there after his release in order for Kris to recover in peace.

But Adam wondered if it was the right decision.

It was kind of selfish, in a way, because he wanted Kris here, with him, but also Adam worried because he knew that Kris being away was just postponing the inevitable discussion, the end of the dance they had been performing long before Kris's divorce.

It was exactly one month, two days and three hours after Kris's release when the knock on the door came. Adam opened the door.

"Kris? I thought--"

"I just wanted to come home."

There was a weariness in his voice, and a heaviness in the way Kris stood there. Adam put an arm around Kris's shoulder and led him inside.

"It's good to have you here."

Kris looked up then and smiled, a shadow of itself, but more than Adam could have ever expected.

It was a start.  
*

Kris kept looking at him as if expecting him to speak. As if Adam had all the magic cures to solve whatever Kris's lingering problems were. But Adam didn't know what the problems were, because Kris had mostly slept in the two days since his return. Adam was tempted to call Mrs. Allen, but was afraid to go behind Kris's back because he needed Kris to trust him.

"That's it. I have to know."

"Know what?" Kris asked.

"Why you came back so soon."

Kris laughed, dry and short. "Because there is only so much coddling anyone needs. I love my parents, but I need to know things that they said I wasn't ready for."

"Like?"

"I want to see my funeral."

Adam swallowed. "Okay. I think I can handle that."

"I want to visit his grave."

"We can do that too."

"I want to know when you found that."

Adam clutched his necklace reflexively. "Do you want that first?"

Kris nodded.

"After. It was right after the funeral. I didn't want to think about you dead, so I went into your room and pretended I was waiting to surprise you. Then I started looking through your stuff, trying to find something to hold onto, because you couldn't be dead--"

"Adam..."

"This is important, okay?"

"Okay."

"I found the box. I didn't know what it was at first, and then I saw the K. Remembered that night in Vegas."

"Yah," Kris said, looking down, and Adam saw it just for a second, a flash of _his_ Kris and then it was gone. "I, well, see that was one of the reasons I was at Brad's, you know."

Adam paused. No one knew this story except the police, who had only issued a statement saying Kris's report had confirmed that it was the other driver's fault, although, the other driver had died, too, so it wasn't really a case to be further explored.

"You talked about this with Bard?"

Kris laughed then, a rusty, but genuine laugh. "Yeah. See, the thing is, he and I had been talking a lot. I don't know why, really, except that he was super snarky and I liked him despite his craziness. So we hung out a couple of times. I told him about the necklace, how I was going to make a move, and he said that we should go shopping for the right outfit, and I said yes for some stupid reason. And it was cold out so I gave him my stupid hoodie jacket that had my wallet in it, and he took my keys because he didn't trust me to drive anywhere that sold clothes that had actual taste. I told him you had taught me a little. He said he could teach me better."

Adam held his breath. Kris was talking fast, like he couldn't get it out any other way. His eyes were on the floor, and his hands clenched tightly together. Then he spoke again.

"I told him to slow down, that you and I had been dancing around each other for years and it wouldn't hurt to take an extra five minutes. That's when you called."

"Yeah, I heard the rest."

Kris looked at him then, his eyes wide and wet. "They thought he was me because I gave him my shirt. I don't know how to handle that."

Adam put his arm around him. "I felt guilty because I was happy it was you that was alive and not him. We all have our demons Kris. At least that's what my therapist said. So you want to see how America mourns an Idol?"

Kris nodded. "Yeah."

Adam could only the first five minutes of the video, the memories of that day too fresh for him to bear. Kris waved him off, telling him to go if he needed to.

He made it to the kitchen.

He hovered there, torn between going back and remembering the depth of the pain he had been in, but to support Kris, and staying here and leaving Kris to fend for himself. Adam was unsure of choices anymore, so rattled by what had happened that he wanted to double check everything, from the door being locked to the kind of milk he bought.

His therapist wasn't too worried about it yet, but she was concerned. It was borderline obsessive, but she had promised him that he should recover. Adam breathed for awhile, finally sitting on a stool and doodling, trying to figure out how to get his life back to where it was.

At some point Kris would encounter press. Then he would want to go back to playing. But the one driving question in Adam's mind as a selfish one. He wanted to know exactly what kind of move Kris had been planning on making.

Adam had almost lost him, and he didn't want to wait any longer. But he also knew he had to be patient, that he had to wait for Kris to be ready, to be healthy again.

"You didn't cry. You looked terrible, but you didn't cry."

Adam looked up. "No. I wanted to. It came later."

Kris sat down beside him, taking the pen and adding to Adam's doodles.

"It's very surreal watching yourself being laid to rest."

"I imagine."

"How long before the press realizes I'm back?"

Adam shrugged. "Anywhere between now and two days."

"Can we go see him today then?"

"Yeah. Are you sure?"

"No. But I need to do this without anyone watching."

"Then get your jacket. The wind is terrible today."

"Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for doing this. I mean, thanks for not shielding me."

Adam bit back that he was shielding Kris, at least from himself, and nodded. Kris stepped forward and kissed Adam on the corner of his mouth.

"I'm going to get my jacket now."

Adam waited until Kris was gone before his hand reached up to his mouth. He flexed his fingers, his emotions a mass of need, guilt, regret, love, and so many other things he couldn't quite place.

He had to be careful, he had to handle this right. If he didn't..,

*

Adam threw his keys into the basket and scrubbed his face. Kris sat on the couch, silent.

It had been a week, but the press had finally found him.

Their questions still rang in Adam's ears.

"Kris! Kris! How does it feel to be alive? Have you talked to Mr. Bell's family yet? Where were you going together? Why was he wearing your shirt? Do you feel responsible for his death?"

It was endless, the questions and the flashes, but Kris ducked his head and walked through, Adam close behind. Kris had already issued a statement, but the reporters wanted him to say it live, to see if he would falter, to watch him break down.

They would be disappointed.

Adam closed his eyes trying to forget Kris kneeling at Brad's grave, his fingers tracing the letters in the grave stone, his face still, his eyes unreadable. If only Kris would say something, indicate something, Adam would know what to do. He was caught in a whirlwind, trying to find a safe place and ending up flying away.

"Adam?"

Adam opened his eyes. Kris was standing there, his face still not showing anything, his eyes wide and dark and unreadable.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to do me a favor."

"Okay."

Kris walked forward and kissed him, short, fast, and stepped away.

"Stop treating me like a doll. I won't break."

"I know that—"

"No you don't!"

For the first time in awhile, Kris's face changed, angry and red.

"I'm afraid, okay?"

"You don't think I'm not? Things... Things have happened, and I'm tired of everyone stepping around me like I'm a ghost! I'm here! I lived! And I just want you to touch me already!"

Adam froze for a split second before his body took over, slamming Kris into the counter and kissing him. Kris's hands threaded into Adam's hair, and he spread his legs to accommodate Adam, pressing himself closer. Adam found himself split in two, one half tearing at Kris's shirt, licking a straight line down his collarbone and sucking at the hollow of his throat, the other half screaming at him to slow down, to take his time.

But Kris wasn't helping the voice screaming in Adam's head. Kris's hands were surprisingly fast, unbuttoning, feeling, stroking, everywhere and nowhere. His hands reached down to cup Adam, and Adam let out a strangled moan that sounded suspiciously like 'Kris'

"Adam, please, please..."

Adam stepped back, watching as Kris practically lay on the counter, as if offering himself to be sacrificed. Adam knew he should step away, knew he should stop this, and then Kris grabbed his hand.

"Don't even think that," Kris whispered, and pulled Adam to his room.

Adam watched as Kris wriggled out of his jeans, immediately pressing himself against Adam, writhing as his cock met the rough fabric of Adam's pants.

"Jesus Adam, please,"

Adam swallowed, letting his body take over again, mesmerized as Kris traced his torso with a finger, his other hand trying to figure just how Adam's pants would come undone.

"Let me," Adam whispered, taking care of it much faster than Kris ever could.

Then Kris was against him, his body against Adam's, their cocks rubbing together, and Adam tried to hold back.

"Kris, we need--"

"Adam, just please. I want you. Do not rationalize. Not now. Please."

There was too much desperation in Kris's voice but Adam knew it would be worse to stop than continue, both of them would be frustrated and angry and it had gone too far.

Adam pushed Kris forward until he fell onto the bed, the lay down on top of him, delighted as Kris arched beneath his kisses, begged as Adam whispered for him to be patient.

"I don't want to wait anymore"

"Things to take care of," Adam said, and Kris nodded as Adam started with one finger, then two.

Kris began to move then, his body rocking violently in Adam's hand, his head thrown back into the pillows, his voice hoarse and low, begging Adam to fuck him, to just fuck him already and Adam ventured a third finger, greeted with a moan and Kris's sharp gasp.

"I can't hold on, please, Adam, I just,"

And then Adam adjusted them both trying to be so careful, but Kris had other ideas, wrapping his leg around Adam as soon as Adam was inside him, and pulling him further, and biting his lip, but then kissing Adam, murmuring a thank you, shouting his name as they both reached fever pitch.

"Kris," Adam breathed.

"Don't. Just stay."

*

Adam blinked. He remembered lying with Kris, not speaking, until Kris fell asleep, then cleaning up oh so carefully, and then curling against Kris and falling deeply.

Adam realized it was late, so he threw on a pair of pants, wondering just how awkward it was going to be.

Kris wasn't there.

Or in his own room.

Or anywhere.

Adam began to panic.

He dialed Kris's number and got voice mail.

_I fucked things up._

He sat on the bed and began to hyperventilate. Then he really looked around the room, the only evidence anything had happened at all his scattered clothes, rumpled bedsheets, a used condom in the trash can, and the burning pain of regret and shame in his stomach.

*

Adam made it four hours before he called anyone.

"Adam sweetie, hey!"

"Mrs. Allen?"

He cleared his throat, trying not to sound too worried.

"Yes, Adam?"

"You haven't heard from Kris, have you?"

"Not today. Why?"

"Oh he just left without a note and I—"

"Adam?"

Adam sat on the bed again. "Yes?"

"What happened?"

Adam felt for the necklace then, and realized it was gone too. He breathed for a moment, the panic bubbling again.

"Adam?"

"I screwed things up."

"What happened?"

Adam struggled for a way to tell her 'I fucked your son and now he probably thinks I'm a douche bag for taking advantage of him when he was vulnerable'.

"I, we, he wanted, and I, and now he's gone, and not answering his phone. What if he gets hurt? I can't lose him again. I can't."

"Adam I need you to breathe, okay honey? Is his guitar still there?"

"Yeah."

"Then he'll be back. I'll make some calls and see if I can't find him, and you sit tight."

"Thanks Mom."

Adam could hear the smile.

"I love you too."

*

Adam ended up cleaning to distract himself, scrubbing and picking up. It was the best his place had ever looked.

Still no Kris.

Finally, around midnight he lay in his bed, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep. He imagined how he should have handled the night before, how things might have been then. His therapist would call it destructive behavior, but it was the only thing that kept him from screaming.

He slept for perhaps an hour, and got up to get milk.

"You look terrible."

He turned to the couch and almost fell to his knees then.

"Kris."

"Hey," Kris said, and Adam didn't move.

"Adam?"

Adam felt like it was the accident all over again. He had no words, nothing to say.

"I didn't know where you were. I thought you'd left for good. That I'd done something wrong. I-- I took, I can't," he began to hyperventilate.

"Adam."

Then Kris's arms were around him, and Adam pushed him away.

"Don't. Touch. Me. I need to know what the hell happened to you."

Kris scrubbed his face. "It wasn't you."

Adam sank onto a stool.

"I don't understand."

Kris took his hand. "Maybe things didn't go the way they should have, and we can't get that back. But I pushed you too far, and I'm sorry."

"You pushed me?" Adam gaped. "I thought, I thought..."

"No. I panicked because I wanted everything to be perfect, and then when I was gone I realized I'd fucked up and I didn't know how to fix it, and then—"

"Kris."

"What?"

"Are you staying?"

Kris nodded.

"Do you... do you..."

Kris kissed him then, a gentle brush of lips. "I want to do it right this time. But I still want to do it."

Adam closed his eyes. "You took my necklace."

Kris put his arms around Adam. "I don't think you need it. I think we both know life isn't perfect, and messy, and that no matter what we're still going to end up standing here like this. Because we were always meant to intersect, you and I."

Adam leaned into Kris and sighed. "Just don't ever do it again, okay?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

*

One year later

Adam turned on the TV.

"Do we have to watch it?"

He looked at Kris. "Yes we do."

Kris had decided to give one interview. A lot of people battled for the chance, but he had picked Oprah, lured her briefly out of retirement. He had flown to Chicago, Adam by his side the whole time.

Adam squeezed Kris's hand as the opening images flashed across the screen: the crash, the headlines, a brief glimpse of the funeral, Kris and Adam being hounded by reporters.

Then Kris was on the screen, his usual jeans and plain shirt. The white lines on his arms were almost invisible, but in the focus, they stood out. Before... before there hadn't been the weighing look in his eyes, either. If anything, Kris seemed more solid now, more present.

They spoke of the accident, of why Brad had been driving. Oprah mentioned Brad's mother and Kris winced, because it has been a never ending battle with her. He looked into the camera and said,

"Believe me, there is no one else in this world who feels more guilt than I. I will carry it to my grave."

After the first commercial break, Oprah asked Adam to join them on stage, and there was a look in Kris's eyes, unmistakable possessiveness, and they spoke of their relationship, and how they have had ups and downs throughout the year.

"I think it went well," Adam said.

"Yeah."

Kris leaned into him, and Adam held him close. It had been a tough year. They had taken it slow, and done it right. It had been frustrating and perfect.

"She didn't even ask."

Adam looked at Kris. "I know. Maybe because she didn't have to."

They had been wearing the rings for a month now, plain gold on the right hand. No one had asked them about it yet.

"Maybe. Do you think we'll be okay?"

Adam shrugged. "I would say yes, because that's what I want. But maybe we should just take it one intersection at a time. See where the road takes us."

Kris nodded. "See where the road takes us."

FIN


End file.
